


Part of the Deal

by tamlane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bachelorette Party, Banter, Dirty Talk, F/M, Infidelity, Mild Blood, Party Games, Under-the-table action, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2236593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/pseuds/tamlane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Astoria's hen party, and Charlie's willing to play her game... for a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part of the Deal

**Author's Note:**

> **Character Notes & UST Warning:**  
> This fic has a background Draco/Astoria pairing, but as always in my fics, assume it's dysfunctional. ;) There are two very minor OCs because no one from canon plausibly fit the scenario, but blink and you'll miss them. As for sex... there is none in this fic _per se_ (sorry!), but I think Charlie's dirty mouth and wandering hands warrant an explicit rating.
> 
> Written for [Daily Deviant](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/daily_deviant/). Themes: coprolalia (dirty talk) and salirophilia (sullying a partner). Originally posted [here](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/daily_deviant/597440.html). (August 2014)

_Malfoy's got a lap full of brunette. This disclosure better earn me a blow job._

"I love Blaise Zabini," Daphne gushed as the silvery vapor of his swan-shaped Patronus dissipated. Under her breath, she added, "But he's crazy if he thinks he's getting a blow job for that."

Daphne's sister, on the other hand, was none too pleased with Blaise Zabini. If her fiancé was indeed getting a lap dance, it was probably Blaise's fault. When Draco had mentioned his stag party, he'd promised her there would be no touching. Not that she'd really believed him. And not that she expected much more consideration after they were married. Thus was the fate of a Pureblood wife, she supposed.

She tossed back a shot. "So Draco gets lap dances," she said with a grimace, "while I get cheap firewhisky at a seedy dive in Inverness."

Daphne shrugged. "You were the one who said you wanted something different. Something low-key. Somewhere you weren't likely to run into anyone you knew."

"Yeah. Well." She poured another shot. "This is different all right."

"Anyway, you lose. So let's see." Daphne tapped her pink-lacquered fingernails on the grimy surface of the table. "Who's it going to be?"

Astoria nervously surveyed the crowd. At least most of the blokes appeared to be under the age of fifty, but more than a few looked like they could use a good bath – or least a wardrobe consultation. "Remember my conditions," Astoria said. "No facial hair."

Not that she had anything against facial hair in theory. But she didn't want the perpetrator leaving scruff marks, especially after the very expensive facial she'd just undergone to give her that fresh maidenly glow.

She could probably deal with some light stubble. Maybe.

Astoria picked out a tall, slender blond at the bar. He was older, maybe in his forties, but distinguished. He wore finely tailored robes, and a tasteful ring glittered on one of his fingers. "How about him?"

"The blond?" said her friend Iris. "No way. You'll want someone a little less… Draco-ish."

"Indeed," Daphne agreed. Her eyes were focused at a spot across the room. 

Astoria reluctantly followed her sister's gaze. Her stomach did a somersault when she spotted the man in the corner. She wasn't sure how she had overlooked him before, considering his bulk. His forearms were the size of other men's biceps; his biceps strained the sleeves of his t-shirt ominously. And was that a suntan or… dirt? Either way, he was covered in it, giving him a swarthy appearance that didn't match the violently red hair on his head. 

"Oh no," she said. "Definitely not him."

"I think he's kind of hot," said Iris. 

He looked up from his magazine, and Astoria quickly looked away. "You're crazy. He looks like a Weasley. Probably is. There are hundreds of them all over the place, aren't there?"

Her cousin, Diana, spoke up. "He's a Weasley all right."

"Yeah?" Daphne looked more interested by the second. "How do you know?"

"He was two years ahead of me at Hogwarts. Quidditch Captain. Ran off somewhere to tame dragons or something."

Astoria crossed her arms. "So he's a dumb jock who's old enough to be my grandpa. No offense, Di."

"At least he can read," said Iris.

"Oh, let's not jump to hasty conclusions," Astoria snapped. 

They couldn't be serious. There were party games, and then there was this. And _this_ was a verifiable brute. The kind Astoria appreciated from a far, sure, from a twisted aesthetic standpoint. But she'd be damned if was going to walk up to one in a pub and—

"All right, all right," Daphne said. "So he's a little rough around the edges." She swirled the whisky in her tumbler and raised one plucked eyebrow. Astoria knew her sister, and she knew she wasn't going to like whatever came out next, and sure enough: "Your fiancé, on the other hand, is a perfect gentleman. With a lap full of exotic entertainer."

Astoria gritted her teeth and threw back some liquid courage. "Fine. I'll do it."

* * *

She was regretting it before she was halfway across the room. She'd never approached a bloke in a bar before. Usually she was the one fending off unwanted advances.

He wouldn’t consider this an unwanted advance, would he? She sniffed and smoothed out her robes. What did she care? He should be so lucky. If he had any sense, he'd jump at what she offered. 

With that thought in mind, Astoria drew up beside his table and cleared her throat. "Hello."

He kept reading. And yes, he was in fact reading. Or at least he was moving his eyes.

She cleared her throat again, this time more loudly. "I couldn't help but notice that you're—"

"Not interested," he interrupted gruffly.

Astoria's back shot up. It wasn't like she was swooning herself, even if he did have a sort of rugged appeal.

"Look, you're pretty enough, sweetheart." He licked his finger and flipped a page, still not looking up. "And I'm flattered, honestly. But I've been dealing with red tape at the Torridon Reserve all week, so you'll excuse me if I'd rather have another go with a Hebridean Black than play whatever little game you and your friends are up to."

Astoria opened her mouth to deny it, but he didn't give her a chance.

"Yes, I saw you over there gawking and sniggering." His lip curled. "Kind of hard to miss, really."

She shot Iris a look of loathing. Iris was the one who'd been sitting there with her tongue hanging out. Now all three of them were shamelessly staring, the cows. Iris had her eyebrows raised expectantly. Di was hiding a wicked grin behind her glass. And Daphne was shooing her with her hand, actually _shooing her_.

And the brute just kept right on talking.

"I'm tired. I'm sore. I just had my first real bath in three days. And by tomorrow night at this time, I'll be facing all new and exciting adventures in Portkey lag. So if it's all the same to you, I'd like to finish my drink and be off to bed with minimal female harassment."

Oddly, all Astoria could think was, _This was what he looked like_ after _a bath?_ Although she suspected no amount of scrubbing would dislodge the black grime under his blunt fingernails. And it wasn't dirt that covered his face and neck and arms, she realized with a start. It was freckles. She had never seen so many freckles on one person.

Astoria shook her head to clear it. She was _not_ checking him out. "You know what?" she snapped. "Never mind. I told them you probably weren't into girls."

He turned another page. "You might be surprised what I'm into."

"Oh yeah? Prove it." She licked her lips. "Kiss me."

"Got nothing to prove, kid. Run along."

Astoria exploded at the word "kid". Who did he think he was? She reached across the table and snatched the magazine right out of his hands, tossing it aside. And met two blue eyes framed by long, red lashes. "Do you think I _want_ to be over here begging a kiss from an absolute ogre like you?"

He snorted. "Oh yeah, sweet-talking will get you everywhere, love."

She pinched her nose. "Look. I'm getting married tomorrow. This is my sister's idea of fun and games. I promise I don't like it any more than you." She sighed. "Can't you just play along for a minute?"

He sat back in his chair, thumbing at the label on his bottle of ale and looking from her to her tittering bridesmaids. Then, with an unreadable expression, he pulled out the chair next to him and gave her a single nod.

Astoria slowly rounded the table and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. She glanced over to see the three girls giving her the thumbs up.

The brute lazily draped his arm over the back of her chair. "So what kind of kiss are we talking about here?"

She looked back across the room as though they'd be able to answer for her. They hadn't specified, and she realized with a twinge of annoyance that was probably because they didn't think she'd make it this far.

"Oh, you know," she replied. "The usual kind."

"The usual… yeah, okay, sweetheart. Why don't you tell me what the usual is? Quick? Soft?" He dropped his voice. "Wet?" And then he dropped his gaze. "Deep?"

She ignored the way the word went straight between her legs. "Quick sounds good."

"Hmm." His eyes stayed on the front of her robes. "Maybe quick isn't my style."

"Maybe," she gritted out, "you could make an exception." Hopefully before she decided she liked the look in his eyes. She hadn't had _that_ much to drink, had she?

He grinned. "And what's in it for me?"

"Besides the obvious? What do you want, then? Money?" He was a Weasley, after all.

"Money's not much good in the middle of the mountains." He scratched at his stubble with a thumb that was missing half a nail. "Tell you what. I'll settle for your knickers."

She lifted her gaze from his deformed thumbnail to his sparkling eyes. "Pardon?"

"You _are_ wearing knickers, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm wearing knickers." And thankfully they weren't the sort she wouldn't want a man to see. It wouldn't be too scandalous, she supposed, to take them off and give him a little souvenir, though she might not be comfortable sitting around the rest of the night without them on. The thought made her squeeze her legs together. 

"Well, that settles it. You give me your knickers. And I give you your kiss. Deal?"

With a huff, Astoria glanced around the pub. When she was sure no one was watching other than her so-called friends, she reached down and starting working the skirt of her robes up.

"Ah-ah," the brute said. "I have a condition."

"What?" 

He leaned closer, one red eyebrow arched. "I get to take them off of you."

"Absolutely not." She couldn't let this man put his big, calloused hands up her skirt, could she? "That's out of the question." 

He cracked his knuckles menacingly, as though he were about to engage in hard manual labor. 

"No, you can't be—"

She broke off in a squeak when he reached out and jerked her chair closer, and oh dear. She could smell him now, smoky and musky. It should have been more off-putting than it was. 

"No worries, love," he said, arranging her chair so her knees were pointed slightly towards him. "All you have to do is sit there." He chuckled. "Should be good practice for your wedding night."

Astoria's mouth worked for a minute before she managed a cool: "I beg your pardon."

With a shrug, he rested his hand on her knee, just under her skirt. "I know your type. Let me guess. You're marrying your cousin. It was arranged by your folks, and he's never even used his tongue to kiss you. Much less used it anywhere else. And I bet he's out there tonight, up to his elbows in tavern wenches, isn't he?"

"He's not my cousin."

"Ah. My mistake." 

He rubbed small circles over her knee. Astoria bit the inside of her jaw. What was going on here? Her knee wasn't supposed to be an erogenous zone. 

"Just get on with it," she demanded through her teeth.

"All right, I will. As soon as you quit acting like you're under a leg-locking curse." He ran one finger up and down the crease between her tightly clenched legs. "Or is that more wedding night practice?"

Bastard. Astoria looked across the room to find Daphne holding her hands up as if to say, _What's taking so long?_ Apparently they couldn't see under the table. She decided it wouldn't hurt to spread her knees just a little bit.

"Better?"

"It's a start. Now hold nice and still for me, yeah?" 

As if he had to tell her. She froze as he worked his hand slowly, slowly up beneath her skirt and across her thigh, and then—

"What do have we here?" He snapped one of her garter straps, chuckling. "Oh no, you weren't expecting any action tonight, not at all."

Her face burned, though whether out of anger or embarrassment, she couldn't say. "I like wearing stockings. What of it?"

"Oh, I like you wearing them, too," the brute replied with a wolfish grin. "But I'm guessing these straps need to go. In order to get to the goods, so to speak."

"Just do what you must and have done with it." 

She tried to ignore his fingertips brushing the bare skin of her thigh as he fumbled around, but it was useless. Her body sparked at the touch. What would Draco say if he could see her now, with some strange man's hand — a Weasley's no less — up her robes right there in the middle of this dingy pub? The thought only seemed to fan the sparks into flames. 

"Oh, for crying out..." She huffed. "You're taking forever. Just let me do that part."

"Easy," he purred. "I got it." A moment later the catch popped free, and she realized the bastard had been teasing her.

"Why, you—

"So, you a virgin?" he cut her off, his fingers now moving deftly from garter to garter.

"I can't believe… That's…" It was getting hard to think clearly, what with all that movement under her skirt. She shifted in her chair. "That's absolutely none of your business."

"What a waste." Another strap popped free. Then another. "Reckon he'll be gentle?" He leaned closer and whispered, "I wouldn't be."

Astoria closed her eyes and pressed her legs back together. She couldn't let him get to her, she told herself. She couldn't. Yet he was. She could already feel her knickers getting damp.

"All this talking wasn't part of the deal."

He nudged her hair out of the way so his lips brushed her ear. "In fact, you know what I'd do with a prissy thing like you?" 

"I am neither prissy nor a thing. And I don't want to know."

Ah, but she did. She found that she really, really wanted to know.

And, glancing across the pub, she found that her bridesmaids had grown bored and returned to chatting amongst themselves.

The brute's fingers freed the last garter strap and began journeying upward. Her heart pounded in her ears.

"Well, I'll tell you what I'd do. I'd take you upstairs to my dirty room. And I'd lay you out on that filthy duvet. And I'd show you what a bloke with dirt under his nails — yeah, I saw you wrinkling your nose at that — I'd show you what that kind of bloke likes to do to sassy Pureblood mouths. And in case you're unclear, kissing's got nothing to do with it."

Astoria's breath caught in her throat. No one had ever said anything so dirty to her. And he didn't even use explicit language, but Merlin, he didn't have to. Her body roared like Fiendfyre at his words. 

She tried to keep the conversation grounded. "And what makes you think I'm a Pureblood?"

"Please. You might as well have it embroidered on your collar. Know what I'd do next?"

She swallowed. "I'm sure I don't care."

"Too bad." His fingers were at the leg of her knickers now, tracing the edge. His breath was hot in her ear. "I'd leave those stockings right where they were. And I'd throw your ankles over my shoulders. And I'd bend that perky little body of yours in half." He hummed. "And I'd show you how blokes with blood and ashes on their jeans like to break in tight little cunts."

At the crude word, Astoria reached out and clamped her hand down on his leg. Maybe to stop him. Maybe to steady herself. Maybe just to touch him. His thigh was like steel. She glanced down at the worn denim under her fingers, grey with grime and spotted with… she didn't want to know what it was. 

Her traitorous body oozed. 

"And I'd thrust" —he gently squeezed her thigh— "and thrust"—he squeezed again— "and I'd pump you so full of my cock that you'd swear I was going to break that cheap, rickety bed and some secret part of you along with it."

Astoria bit back a whimper. 

He slipped his fingers just inside the waistband of her knickers and gently tugged, forcing the fabric between her labia, soaking it with the slickness her body insisted on producing against her will. She couldn't believe she was letting this cretin talk to her this way. Even worse: any minute now, any minute, he'd have her wet knickers in hand, and then there would be no pretending she didn't like it. He'd know exactly what he was doing to her.

"Are we almost finished here?" she said, breathlessly.

"Almost. Lift your arse."

She did, glad for the chance to move her hips. He worked her knickers down over them. Astoria winced as the crotch clung to her mound and then dragged stickily over the insides of her thighs.

But he left them there, right around her thighs. His fingers crept upward, inward. 

"And then—"

Astoria licked her lips, her knuckles white where she grasped his leg.

"—I'd flip you over on your belly—"

She closed her eyes, every nerve on edge.

"—and I'd yank that oh-so-proper backside in the air—"

Merlin help her, she opened her legs to him, as far as should could inside the tangle of her ruined knickers. 

"—and I'd warm it up real good with the palm of my hand, real good and hard—"

His fingertips were right there, so close. Surely he wouldn't dare touch her there. Surely she would stop him if he did.

"—and then I'd spread those cheeks—"

Her pelvis twitched as she tried to keep from thrusting against his fingers.

He placed a soft, wet kiss against her earlobe. 

"—and I'd show you my favorite use for that filthy hole you've no doubt been clenching since you walked into this dump."

His fingers slid through her sopping wet flesh.

Astoria's hand flew to his wrist, grabbing it, but he worked her relentlessly. He found her clitoris and imprisoned it between two thick fingers, massaging it, smearing all that wetness. She could practically hear it.

She dug her nails into his wrist through the fabric of her skirt. "That definitely wasn't part of the deal."

Then his fingers were gone.

He slowly pulled his hand out from under her skirt and, to her horror, held his soaked fingers up in front of her. He scissored them slightly, a gooey thread of her moisture stretching between them.

"Neither was that, I'll bet," he replied with a chuckle. "Looks like your cunt didn't get the message, sweetheart."

Astoria's eyes stung with too many emotions to name. Anger. Shame. Blinding desire.

She watched, as though in a trance, as he lifted those fingers to his mouth. He wrapped his lips around them and sucked them clean. When he finally pulled off of them, he was smirking. "You still want that kiss?"

All rational thought evaporated. Astoria launched herself at him. 

She grabbed his head in her hands and slammed her mouth against his, plunging her tongue between his lips to taste her own arousal. He growled into the kiss and viciously shoved his hand into her hair, pulling it. In retaliation, Astoria sunk her teeth into his lip. She lapped up the copper taste of blood and drank his surprised grunt of pain before finally tearing herself away to breathe.

She didn't even bother to look for her bridesmaids' reaction. She had only one thing in her mind, and her heart hammered unnaturally fast against her ribs as she gave it words in a voice she barely recognized as her own.

"Do you still want my knickers?"

He lifted his hand and wiped at his mouth, glancing down at the blood on his finger. She thought for a moment he might tell her off, but he didn't. He shoved that same hand into his pocket and pulled out a key. He slammed it down on the table and slid it towards her, challenge burning in his eyes.

Astoria picked up the key, her hand shaking, and ran her thumb over it. 

The jagged edge felt like freedom.


End file.
